AS SPIG and Molly came out of the trail through the woods into the Ashtons’ grounds the telephone was ringing in Dunning’s studio apartment. It stopped and started up again as they crossed the lawn. Anita’s father was on the lower level of the terrace outside the living-room, with the others, seated casually at ease, Anita and Lucy laughing at a story Dunning was telling them—a pleasant gathering at the end of a pleasant day.
Molly’s hand closed for an instant on Spig’s arm. “Careful, darling . . . let’s be just as smooth as they are.”
Smooth was not quite the word for Anita’s father, coming across the lawn now to meet them, a large handsome man with a glistening white mane and an impressive paunch, benign in his cordial warmth.
“It’s a pleasure to see you young people again.” He shook
